Shadow Detectors
by LicencePlate
Summary: Jaclyn Forte is as happy as any rouge sorcerer getting paid a visit by a Sanctuary; not very happy. But when they bring news that she is now one of the only sorcerers that has the ability to be a Detector, she receives two options: either become a Sanctuary agent and possibly find her mentor's murderer, or do it alone and risk her life even more. OC story set in SP world.


**Hi there! This is my Skulduggery Pleasant fanfiction, and yes, it's my first one too xD this is just what i like to call the starter chapter, since it isn't really a prologue, and it isn't very long. I hope you like it! And just to clarify, there won't me loads of contact with Skulduggery and Val, but more with the minor characters, since I want to delve more into them and their past :)  
**

**Ooh and thank you **OptimisticLivvy **for reading through and editing my work!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the wonderous creations of Derek Landy. All I own are my characters, but the world they are in and certain powers they have belong to him.**

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1:Already Named

Jaclyn Forte closed her eyes and sighed, letting her fatigue from her lack of sleep sink into her mind. It didn't entirely sink her into loss of consciousness, which was what she was hoping, so it promptly irritated her, and she turned onto her side. The fact that the car seemed in no way obliged to enlarge its pitiful excuse of legroom irritated her even more, and she turned back to facing forwards with a humph. Her mother noticed her discomfort, and shifted slightly to get a better view of her daughter.

"Are you alright, dear?" She asked, in the caring yet invasive way only a mother can invoke in her words, whether consciously or not. Jaclyn wondered if that very way of speaking came instantly as a baby emerged from the womb, or if it came with practice and constant use. Either way, she wasn't planning on getting the 'achievement' of ever using that tone of voice, no matter which path gave that… skill, could she call it? It seemed much better a word than 'talent', anyway.

"I'm fine." She replied dryly, her lie, for once, not hitting hard enough into the floodgate of useless chatter her dear mother usually morphed into, on a dreary car trip like that one.

Transferring her gaze to the window, Jaclyn resisted the urge to ask how long it would take to get home. _At least you're on your way _back_, and not on your way _to _anywhere, _she mentally scolded herself. _It isn't exactly _my _way if I had no choice in the matter, _she retorted. Already bored of the drivel, typically wet English landscape, she sighed, letting her arm slide off the seat like an attempt to get comfortable. Only when her hand was low enough to eclipse the sight of her parents did her middle finger graze gently over her thumb, and, with a small spark, caused a flame to form.

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As the car made its final few wheezes of the journey up their driveway (taking its time as it did so, Jaclyn noted bitterly), she flung open the door and ran to the house, her key chinking with the lock as her parents yelled unintelligible things to her. If you haven't noticed already, Jaclyn was in her rebellious stage.

Slowly closing the door behind her, she took in her home for a second, in all of its familiar and homely glory. Jaclyn's home, or, as she preferred calling it, the Norse house, was a simple chalet bungalow, with large, roomy bedrooms and no basement. The rooms were lightly decorated, with the furniture varying in style; from modern to retro, to even some medieval reminiscent pieces scattered here and there. The windows were square and small, but the soft lighting made up for the little true light that made it indoors.

Shifting her gaze to the stairs to her right, she charged up, not in the least disturbed by the groan coming from a certain 10th step her mother had warned her to avoid. She made her way quickly to her room, where clothes covered up her carpet-less floor. She picked up a shirt, jacket and trousers from this collage of clothing, and put it on hastily; kicking her more formal clothing she had previously worn onto the floor to replace them. Then, as fast as she had come, Jaclyn sped back down the stairway, taking extra care to hit the 10th step with as much force her rushed feet could muster. The step let out a shriek, and the girl allowed herself a small smile, confident that the next person or animal or even _feather_ that landed its weight on that step, would have themselves in a right scrap of trouble.

"Allison? Allison Norse, come back!" Shouted her mother, as Jaclyn's fleeting form whizzed past her "I have something to tell-"

But she was already gone.


End file.
